


Like Icarus

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Bara Sans, Don't @ Me, F/M, Frans - Freeform, Human Sans, Monster Frisk, Possessive Behavior, Some inappropriate thoughts, Underfell, a giftfic, but it's uf sans, coarse language, collaring, from me to a wonderful artist, he's perfect like that, human underfell, slight Manipulation, soulmating headcanons, thank you for inspiring me so often semi, that's expected, those ones are mine, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: They say love is like a candle, to be nurtured and protected from the smallest gusts of wind, fallible even... easy to extinguish.For him, it was like the sun after an endless night.
Relationships: Frisk/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Like Icarus

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Semisolidmind's Human Skeletons and their headcanons for them](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/703339) by Semisolidmind. 



> Oooookay, so this is a giftfic for the fabulous, amazing person that is Semisolidmind (https://semisolidmind.tumblr.com/), a late birthday present and a balm for all the ills befalling them, I hope. It features her human Underfell Sans and her monster Frisk, and the way they met~ at least the way it exploded into life in my mind lmao. Forgive the length... I get carried away.

* * *

Someone was fucking  **_singing_ ** .

Sans' heavy brows scrunched over his closed eyelids, his nose wrinkling and his lips curling as the unwelcome, pervasive song continued. He cursed beneath his breath, throwing a thick, heavily muscled arm over his eyes in an attempt to drown it out, but the motion (and the crude utterance) did nothing but aggravate him further.

In fact, the singing only seemed to get louder, and with that, he'd fucking  _ had _ it.

If there was one thing that he insisted on, it was his sleep; he despised being woken up before his alarm more than almost anything else. He was allowed so few luxuries in his life, given so little time between work and stress and everything else to just relax... he never asked for much more than to not be disturbed in his rest.

For fuck's sake, even  **Papyrus** knew better than to wake him up before eight, and it was nearly impossible to get anything through his younger brother's insufferably thick head.

But despite his completely reasonable demand, this motherfucker was belting out some... stupid ass song he'd never heard before, what could only be a few feet from his fucking window. He'd give them points, they weren't a bad singer, and if you were twisting his arm, he might even admit that it was actually a rather pleasant song, especially given their soft, sweet voice (not his usual kind of music, but you can't deny talent when you hear it), but that wasn't gonna save them from getting their tongue ripped out of their ignorant skull.

Principals, you know. Can't be lenient, everyone would expect the same.

So the foul-tempered, violent man sat up to do just that, snarling obscenities and scraping a hank of his voluminous, curly hair from his face where it stuck to the stubble of his beard, his magic crackling furiously as he snapped his eyes open to seek out the culprit-

And was greeted, not by the sight of his trash-strewn bedroom, by nicotine-stained and torn wallpaper or the dusty, dirt-streaked window, but by the rising sun, spilling its gentle rays over the crests of rolling foothills and slowly illuminating the field of swaying yellow buttercups he was sitting nearly in the middle of. The wisps of clouds skittering across the sky caught the light, glowing the crisp oranges and reds and purples of sunrise, and all but a few of the brightest stars had already fled in the coming of day.

He was currently sitting on the curve of a large boulder, the cold of it seeping through his pants and into his skin, the surface rough under his gloved palms. A mountain rose high overhead, dominating the landscape and the lightening sky almost entirely, and the hulking, formerly enraged man could only stare up at its imposing facade, blinking incomprehensibly as the flashfire of his temper ebbed away into nothingness.

That was Mt. Ebott, so near he could smell the pine forest gathered around its base from where he sat. The lonely, inactive volcano lay miles away from the city, at the edge of an ancient iceberg and a caldera of its own making; legends professed that it was cursed, that all that went to the mountain disappeared and were never seen again... though he had heard other, stranger tales.

Tales of magic and monsters.

Sans snorted, shaking his head and looking away from the mountain's looming, mist strewn face. Didn't really matter right now. He was more concerned with figuring out the conundrum of his predicament... namely why the hell he'd been sleeping on a fucking rock, over two hours away from home.

There was his jacket, thick and fur-lined, balled up on the boulder's surface; he'd clearly been using it as a pillow, though the twinge in his neck and spine professed to its ineffectiveness. He was still wearing the same clothes he remembered putting on the night before... his jeans were stained with the whiskey he'd spilled and tried to clean up with bar napkins, his t-shirt's neckline likely still decorated with crimson lipstick from the woman he'd picked up.

He couldn't even remember this one's face. He'd been fucking trashed, the dull throb behind his eyes testified to that much... he didn't remember a damn thing after getting her back to the hotel room he'd gotten.

Had he driven out here after he'd finished with her?

Looked like it. His bike was out next to the razor wire fence, at the edge of the field; he could see the chrome from his perch, almost dazzling in the light of the rising sun. Shit... he'd clearly been drunk enough to pass out once he got here. He was lucky he hadn't driven into a ditch on the way and managed to finally off himself.

Papyrus was gonna fucking  **_kill_ ** him.

Groaning and gritting his sharpened teeth, Sans rubbed at his aching eyes with his palms, grinding hard enough to make stars pop against the backdrop of blackness. The punishing pressure of his hangover didn't fade, only seeming to worsen in his attempt to soothe it, and he snarled in frustration, dropping his hands away and pressing his forehead to his raised knees. His brow piercings protested, the thick leather collar done up just a little too tight at the base of his throat dug in and restricted his breathing, but he ignored the discomfort, only clenching his jaw tighter.

He'd gotten carried away again. He'd known it was coming, that he was gonna have another breakdown soon and do something he'd regret... at least he hadn't landed himself in jail again, or gotten himself shot. At least he'd just drunk himself stupid and driven himself out to the only place that he could ever feel at peace.

And that was why he hadn't questioned, not even to himself, why he was here, in the shadow of the mountain. How he'd gotten here, sure, but the why of it? Nah.

He knew why.

This was where he always came, when the world became too much and everything hurt. When the loneliness suffocated, when life was too hard to bear, when the drink couldn't drown the misery, when the bitches didn't satisfy. The mountain called to him, and away he would go, because for a reason he had never been able to name, it always, always helped.

He'd drive out the miles of broken down, unmaintained roads to this field, set at the very edge of the forest, sit himself on this rock, and just... exist. He'd watch the sun set and the moon rise, watch the stars come out one by one and pretend he would ever be able to count them all. He'd listen to the crickets serenade the owls swooping overhead, watch the heavy heads of the flowers bend under the winds bearing down, cool and fresh, from the mountain.

It was the only thing that could truly settle the anger that seemed to live inside him almost perpetually, coming here... the only place he could just  _ be _ .

Ebott was just... so far from it all, from the smog and the bullshit of the city, the sounds of traffic and shouting and the sheer noise of life, from his miserable existence. He never felt as calm and as centered as he did when he was here, pulling the petals from flowers one by one like a schoolgirl and fearing no judgment for it. His phone wasn't ringing, no one was shouting slurs at him from across the street, he didn't have customers breathing down his neck or his brother complaining about his lack of motivation.

Out here, he was just Sans. He was whole, unscarred and innocent in a way he'd never been allowed to be.

He couldn't fathom why being here did this to him. He wasn't usually a flowers and fresh air and quiet contemplation kind of guy... he was loud and rough and crude; he liked cursing and cigarettes and car parts, strong alcohol and sex and bar fights. Gentle, whimsical things had never been a part of his world, had no place in the filth of the city he'd never left, had allowed himself to be swallowed by.

Sometimes he wondered if it was the mountain itself, the magic he'd been told it held, calling to the sorcery that ran through his veins. Was there something up there waiting for him, something greater than he could imagine? He'd thought to ask his brother, before, if he felt the same pull, if being near the mountain stirred anything inside him... but Papyrus didn't hold with such things, he was too practical.

In the end, he supposed why truly didn't matter. He was lucky to've found something that brought him so much peace without a prescription; he didn't trust doctors, hadn't for a good long while, and didn't see that changing anytime soon.

He'd done enough lounging around thinking for one morning, though. Papyrus could open the shop on his own, but he'd never get his hands dirty with the hard work, he had a long drive ahead of him, and he was gonna have to think up a really,  **really** good excuse to appease his brother on the way. Wasn't like he could tell him he'd driven out to a field in the middle of nowhere, drunk off his ass...

God, this was gonna be an even bigger bitch than the crink in his neck,  _ fu _ -

“Oh! You're awake!”

Sans jolted in pure shock, sitting up ramrod straight and squinting against the now much brighter rays of the sun, the chain attached to his wallet scraping against the boulder as he moved. Once again aware of his surroundings as he was called unceremoniously from his own thoughts, he was suddenly conscious to the fact that the gentle singing that had woken him from his drunken slumber in the first place had fallen silent, leaving in its wake the soft breaths of the wind as it moved through the distant treeline and the chirping of waking birds.

Shit, he'd completely forgotten about his mysterious companion, in his shock at finding himself in a field at too fuckin' early AM, and now he'd allowed himself to be snuck up on. Hope they were ready to be disappointed, if they planned on robbing him... he'd wasted the last of his last paycheck on the hotel room last night.

There was a rustling amongst the flowers to his left, signaling the hidden person's mode of approach (what kind of idiot were they? Announcing themselves, and being almost intentionally loud? Worst mugger ever), but with a swiftness that both surprised him and kept him from doing anything more than twitching his hand towards the handgun clipped to his studded belt, alarm flooding his blood with ice, an extremely hairy, diminutive figure leaped from the swaying flowers and up onto his stargazing boulder in a single, nimble bound.

They came to a stop before him gracefully, footing and posture sure, and smiled at him sunnily from beneath the cover of the crown of flowers they bore on their oddly shaped head.

“I'm so glad you're okay... I was really worried! I don't think I've ever seen anyone sleep as heavily as you were; nothing I did woke you up, not even poking you! I would've thought you were dead but for the snoring... which was very loud. But that can't be helped, can it? No, of course not. Eheh... anyway, I wanted to stay with you, to make sure you woke up and were well!” the small personage explained rapidly, almost too fast for him to keep up with; it seemed they'd gone too quickly even for themselves, as they paused to take a deep, steadying breath, tiny hands propped on wide hips, and as they caught their breath, Sans could only stare, blindsided for the second time in five minutes.

This was very obviously the same person that had been singing, they spoke with the same quiet, sweet resonance as they had sung with, but... but it was slowly dawning on him, the more he looked at them, that they weren't a person at all.

The little being blinking back at him from beneath lashes so dark and thick that they nearly completely obscured their bright, shining brown eyes wasn't human, though they stood quite steadily on their back legs... this person was, one hundred percent, a sheep. A sheep wearing a worn, slightly ripped purple sweater-dress over their (her? Her, for sure. She was wearing a dress, looked curvy in all the right places, and had the cutest, most melodic voice he'd ever heard; if he was wrong, he'd correct himself later, but he was almost certain this little creature was female) thick, dark brown woolen coat, a long, fuzzy tail whipping about her legs in clear excitement. Her drooping ears were perked towards him, soft pink on their insides, and her furry face was bright and smiling, even in her breathlessness.

A sheep. A sheep was talking to him.

This was it.

He'd finally fuckin' cracked.

Huffing out an almost amused breath, Sans raised a large, scarred hand to his aching head, the rough material of his fingerless gloves catching on a loose lock of his hair. He massaged his temples with his fingertips, his smile broad but humorless. Obviously, he'd gotten himself into more trouble than usual last night... he'd gotten himself drugged, and he was hallucinating.

...but no. It'd been a long time since he'd fucked around with the hard stuff, but he remembered what the highs and lows felt like, and they weren't like this. All he could feel was the latent bite of the entire bottle of whiskey he'd downed at Grillby's, the dryness of his parched tongue in his mouth and the rumble of hunger in his belly and the sluggish craving for nicotine at the back of his mind.

So if not drugs, what was it? Had the magic finally addled his brain? He knew he used his more than the old fuckface had recommended being safe, but Gaster'd also never gotten the chance to test he and his brother's upper limits before he took his untimely dirtnap, heh.

Could be... and yet, despite his conjecture, and the impossibility of the talking sheep's presence, he felt okay; sure, he was more hungover than he could remember being for a long ass time(it'd been a hell of a night... he hadn't drunk like that in  **years** ), and his back was killing him, but beyond that, he felt no different than usual.

The world turned as it always had, the bees buzzed and the birds sang and the sun rose steadily in the sky, raising a sheen of sweat across the back of his neck beneath the thick curtain of his long hair.

...but if he was fine, how could this creature still persist in existing, now looking on him with an expression of slight nervousness, furry paws twisting together before her chest anxiously.

“You... you are well, right? Are you hurt? It can't have been very comfortable to sleep on a rock like that... I tried to help, I tried to move you to the ground, but... um, you're a lot bigger than me, and... so, I just put your jacket under your head. If... if you want, I can help! I'm not the best at it, but I do know a little bit of healing magic,” the little sheep murmured, fuzzy cheeks flushing at the admission that they had attempted to move him (ha... that'd've been a sight, the tiny thing was  _ maybe _ half his size), and with her newest spiel, Sans' gaze brightened, snapping back to her discomfited expression, his hand dropping away from his face to lay at his side.

Magic. She'd definitely said magic, though any kind that healed was a mystery to him... but she had admitted to having magic, and that brought him back to the world of reality with a screeching halt, his eyes moving from her earnest face and to the mountain that loomed behind her.

His own possession of magic was an anomaly. He and his brother had been bred by the man he'd never called father to bear it, an experiment in emulation of Gaster's deepest, most sincere fascination... monsters. Legendary beings long said to live on the cursed mountain he now sat at the foot of, gone for so long that they had nearly passed out of all memory, recalled only in history some described as mythology.

Monsters were said to be made entirely of magic, the stars' own children, beings of pure love and at one with nature; they were described to come in many forms, from hideous to nearly shapeless, elementals and amorphous blobs and animals of a far more intelligent nature than their own.

Could... could this talking sheep be one of them? Had the monsters finally left the mountain? ...or was this creature alone?

She certainly seemed to be alone. Any companions she had might be hiding, waiting to see what he would do to this soft, tiny being that radiated unadulterated concern and kindness (he bristled at the conjecture, that she'd been thrown before a mad dog like him as a test, his teeth gritting before he'd even realized what he was doing; what did he care?)... but for some reason, he doubted it. His instincts hadn't let him down in that area before... which meant the little lamb waiting patiently for his answer was wandering the wide world by herself.

The thought bothered him more than it should have, with their practically newborn acquaintance... with how little he truly knew about monsterkind. Maybe the little thing was a powerhouse of magical ability, capable of taking on armies alone. Maybe her completely open and friendly and nonthreatening bearing was a ruse. Again, though... he doubted it, and his worry redoubled, the knowledge of what the world would do to a magical being that couldn't defend itself filling his aching head with a concerning amount of empathetic anxiety.

He hadn't cared about anyone besides his brother for nearly his whole life... that just came with the territory of existing in his kind of world. Use or be used, take or lose it all. Kill or be killed. That's the way it was. Feeling real worry for the well-being of someone else was an entirely new feeling, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to shake it.

He'd think on it later, when his head was clearer. He had more things to consider at the moment... like the little monster still waiting for his response.

He grunted, beneath his breath, shifting his position on the still frigid boulder to attempt to ease the ache between his shoulders (nope.... nope, just made it worse, fuck it all-) and, at the same time, test the watching creature's reactions to sudden movements, only confirming the ill feeling of worry in his gut when she merely watched, bright and curious and completely unbothered by a much larger being changing postures.

She was gonna get herself killed out here, no doubt.

“nah, ‘m fine. y’ain’t gotta waste it fer my sake,” he murmured at last, his voice raw and scratchy with thirst and abuse, and the little sheep monster, bright eyes widening at the sound of his voice (the fur of her cheeks darkened as well, for seemingly no reason at all... flighty little thing. A satisfied, confident little voice at the back of his mind whispered that she blushed over the depth and roughness of his voice, like many women had before, but he dismissed it before it settled), unwound delicate, thin fingers to wave her hands through the air dismissively, the smile returning to her face to light it up with gaiety.

“O-oh… it wouldn’t be any trouble, really! But if you’re sure…” she rejoined, obviously leaving the offer open while at the same moment respecting his decision, and Sans' heavy brows scrunched, his mouth twisting to the side as his confusion overtook him. Any doubt that he'd had over her being a monster that lived under a literal rock was completely dismissed, now; no one from the outside world would offer a complete stranger help like this, spending valuable strength for the singular benefit of another.

Had she really emerged from her home without knowing what it was like out here? That she'd be taken advantage of in a second, offering herself like this so readily?

A twinge of guilt assailed him, at the knowledge that he was one of those kind of people too... that he'd done his fair share of being the bad guy. Sure, it'd kept him alive, but he knew perfectly well that some things he'd done had been purely out of cruelty and spite, to benefit himself and no one else. It was a mystery to him that he'd turned down her offer in the first place, though perhaps it had been out of distrust for having a stranger use magic on him (he knew better, he hadn't even considered the danger of it), and an even further mystery that, on having it offered again, he had no intent to change his answer.

It felt...  _ wrong, _ on a moral level he hadn't answered to once in his life, to let her make herself vulnerable. He'd done some truly despicable things, but even considering this felt damnation worthy.

What was wrong with him? Where was this all coming from?

“‘m sure. you’ll need it, likely as not… monster out here by yourself,” he replied pointedly, jerking his head to the world outside their conversation and then wincing as his headache worsened ( **fuck,** it was bad. Just having his eyes open was taxing, and the steadily rising sun wasn't making things any easier), and at his words, his diminutive companion let out a quiet gasp, the glitter of her eyes sharpening under the heavy fan of her thick lashes.

She took three eager, leaping steps forward, her entire, round form bouncing with an unknown excitement (he couldn't have stopped his eyes from lowering to watch if he'd had the presence of mind to try, old habit and wanton curiosity ensnaring the fall of his gaze in a moment, and he wasn't disappointed in the least by what he found there, to his complete and confused surprise), to settle before him on the balled up expanse of his thick jacket, fuzzy legs folded primly beneath her and hands propped under her chin with rabid interest.

“So you  **do** know about us. I’d wondered, if you’d forgotten us like the others that fell... I’d thought there was something different about you. Did I… I thought I felt magic from you too. Is that right?” she queried breathlessly, watching him with a closeness and a simultaneous wonder that would have made him laugh if it hadn't sunk under his skin and into his bones like a knife, stabbing all the way to his center in a single motion. He was just as breathless as she was, his throat tight and his fingers clenched and his aching eyes riveted to hers... he, for the first time since he'd been a child, blood on his hands and his creator dead at his feet (there was the ringing in his ears again, chasing him through the years and echoing from the house he'd tried to pretend still didn't stand at the edge of town, empty and yet full of ghosts), didn't know what to do.

He was a man of action. He didn't waste a lot of time on thinking, not when quick reactions yielded the best and richest rewards... the path he needed to take to achieve his ends was always clear before him. But in this moment, the sounds of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds in his head, the scent of the flowers and his dirty clothes and something that smelled like warm hay and brown sugar and honeysuckle (was... was that her?) assaulting him, her liquid chocolate gaze pinning him to the spot and sinking into his blood to speed his heart and cloud his mind... he didn't have a clue what lay ahead, where to go from here, and that scared him more than he liked to admit.

It wasn't just being faced with an entirely new world, the reality that Gaster hadn't actually been full of shit and that monsters really did exist. It wasn't just having a complete stranger show him mysterious benevolence, watching over him while he slept and offering him help from the goodness of her heart. It wasn't even having someone he didn't know reveal that they knew he had magic, a knowledge he guarded from all but close friends and those he was already planning on killing... it was something that he couldn't name, something that felt bigger than him, something that some people liked to call religion, a devotion to a higher power that worked in mysterious ways.

He didn't know what it was, what he was going to do in this brave new world now laid before him, and he hated that more than  _ anything _ . He didn't like feeling powerless, not when being powerless meant death... and yet, even as he wallowed in his inadequacy, he felt no threat from her. She only watched, and smiled, and wiggled her little tail further into the fur of his jacket (was she cold? She had a lot of pretty thick looking wool, probably not... and yet the concern lingered), her presence so painfully peaceful and benign that he was almost embarrassed to be losing his cool the way he was.

He needed to chill the fuck  _ out _ . She wasn't pushing him for any decisions... no one was, not out here. No one was nagging at him, pressuring him to think faster, be better, work harder. She was just... waiting, curious about him with no design behind her queries, and with the knowledge of that, his pique faded just as quickly as it had risen. The calm and quiet returned, the feelings that soothed him and drew him to this place when he was feeling as muddled as he had been a moment before, his eyes caught by the little crown of flowers on top of her fluffy head, fluttering in the same breeze that bowed the heads of the others still planted in the ground around the rock.

That nameless something tugged at his heart, trying to tell him something he just couldn't grasp (there was something about her, something that felt far more familiar than it should... like he'd known her his entire life, and had missed her so much he had come to the only place that felt even a little bit like her), but he couldn't understand, couldn't make the connection, and so he brushed it away for the moment, shaking his head to clear it and glancing back down to meet her waiting gaze.

She'd asked him about his magic. It was a personal question, for him... but for her kind, likely as easy a conversation as considering the weather. He could indulge her in that much, a trust he didn't understand blooming in his heart without qualm.

“yeah, i got magic. most humans don't, though. ...you could tell i did, just from lookin'?” he divulged, letting his formerly tense body finally relax (it felt like such a foreign thing to do, letting go of the anxious tension of his muscles in front of someone else... he didn't  **ever** do that, not even around his brother), and she nodded eagerly in response, her shoulders shrugging up and her head tilting so cutely that his lips quirked into a half-smile completely unconsciously.

What was she doing to him...

“Oh yes. Monsters are made of magic, we can feel it in our souls~ there’s so little out here, beyond the barrier, you stood out like a beacon. I’ve… I’ve never felt any like yours, though. It’s so warm… like a hearth fire, heating me all the way to my soul…” she murmured gently, her hands rising to rest on her chest, over the same place that beat so steadily and strongly in his own; her lashes fluttered to veil her beautiful gaze (beautiful...? The foreignness of the term in reference to this strange little being was staggering, but the more he looked, the more he thought it, and he had no want to deny it), her head bowed and her smile softened into a fondness that he couldn't fathom, and he could do little more than stare, moved by her words more than he knew how to handle.

He'd never thought of his magic as how she described it. It was a tool, and an angry one at that... he'd used it to get his way for long enough to know that for certain. It blazed in his veins like lava, in his worst moments, stealing all but his unending temper from his mind and leaving nothing but destruction in its wake... burned in him furiously enough to leave ash on his palms and send smoke from his pores. It terrified those that stood in his way, and he liked that more than he probably should... and yet, despite knowing that she was wrong, that he'd burned both himself and others with its fury, he never wanted this delicate, flower-crowned lamb to think otherwise.

If she thought him a hearth, he could be that for her. He could keep her warm in the depth of winter, give her comfort and safety from the storm, temper his flame to never burn her with its ferocity; he could be anything she desired, everything she'd  _ ever _ wanted-

...what?

Sans blinked several times in succession, returning to his own mind with a rush of confusion and distaste for his own poetic thoughts. What the hell had  _ that _ been? He'd never been a romantic, that flowery, foolish nonsense would only get him robbed in the middle of the night... saying nothing of the strength of the desire to be just that that had overtaken him, the want to be the best he possibly could be, all for her.

He was acting like a love-struck moron, drunk in a way he never had been before, and he didn't even know her name. Not that that had ever stopped him from getting what he wanted before... he'd had his way with women that he barely knew more times than he could count.

This was different, though. There was a draw to her that he couldn't begin to understand, fierce and unquestionable but more than just the want to slake his lusts; every moment that passed only made it stronger, the beating of what could only be his own soul pounding a tattoo against the inside of his ribs. His hand twitched where it lay beside him on the rock he sat on, drawn to mirror her motion, but he clenched his fist instead, firmly keeping it in place at his side.

He was being ridiculous. He was out of it, tired and in pain and thrown off his rhythm entirely by the strangeness of meeting a monster in a field at whatever-the-fuck o'clock in the morning, and there was no reason for him to entertain the tangled machinations of his loopy brain (besides the pervasive want to do just that). A smoke would've helped him, he knew it would, but he recalled, with the small smile she'd brought him falling from his lips, that he'd smoked his last one outside the bar last night, while waiting for his conquest to shake off her friends.

**_Damnit_ ** ...

He was irked now, his jaw tightening and his mood souring against his will, his gaze far away as he wondered when the next time he'd be able to get another pack of cigarettes would be (he could stop at a gas station on the way back to the city, but it'd only make him later...), and nearly missed the way the little sheep monster sobered before him, her shoulders drooping and her blissful smile falling away. It didn't look right on her face, the loss of the light that seemed to radiate from within her, and the wrongness of her upset garnered his attention again in an instant, a welling of worry for what caused it filling him before he could stop it, his need for nicotine forgotten.

She fidgeted, as her soft moment of consideration fled her, hands dropping to pick at a tear in his jacket and gaze falling to her woolen knees ( _ no _ ... no, don't look away-), flat, pearly teeth worrying her bottom lip as she pondered on her next words.

“I'm... I'm sorry. If I said something wrong, or made you uncomfortable. I'm sure this is all very strange for you. ...it is for me too,” she whispered, shrinking under what she clearly thought was a flare of temper directed at her, and Sans had never felt like as big of an asshole as he did in that moment. She thought he was angry with  _ her _ ... maybe that he intended to lash out. It was a natural reaction, of course, one he would have expected from anyone he knew in the city... she had no way of knowing how often he lost his temper and he took out his anger on others, but it was an irrefutable truth, even if he'd had no intention to hurt her.

The very thought of it made him physically recoil, made him ill down to the marrow in his bones; he'd sooner cut off his own hands than ever lay a finger on her (or have her fear him as she rightly should), and he knew that with an incontrovertible, furious sort of passion that nearly stole his breath from his body entirely. He didn't even try to deny its presence... it was a simple fact.

Whether she knew or not was inconsequential, though. The fact remained that he'd upset her, that she thought his anger was directed at her and that she might suffer for it, and whatever it was that he thought about her (pretty, soft, tiny, good,  **precious** -), in keeping with his extremely odd behavior that day, it bothered him to his core, so much so that he scrambled for an answer to her former question, to share with her more than she'd asked for in an attempt to make up for his failing.

Things he'd never told anyone else. Things he somehow knew she would understand. Things he knew without a shadow of a doubt she would keep secret, without even being asked to. ...the only thing he wasn't sure of was  _ how _ he knew. That nameless something whispered it in his mind, pushing him to trust her beyond anyone he ever had without reason or proof, and he didn't doubt it this time, despite his dismissal of the same feeling only moments before.

He supposed, in the end, it truly didn't matter, little voice in his head or not... even if she couldn't be trusted, its not like she was going to follow him to the city and spread the information. He... he was never going to see her again, after they parted company here, when he went back to his life and left the peaceful field and the slightly warmer rock he watched the silent stars from and the little lamb that made him feel like he never had before behind.

...why did that bother him so much?

“my old man made me an’ my bro ta be different. phylacteries, he called us, since we started out empty conduits before tha... treatments. think tha official term is sorcerer, though. some kinda mix b’tween monster an’ human. freak, mosta tha people i know like ta call it. ...my magic runs a bit hot, so y’might be feelin’ that,” he divulged quietly, looking away and across the field as he spoke; it always grated, to speak of Gaster when he usually pretended, extremely fiercely, that the old bastard had never existed at all... it made anger and hatred and rarely felt fear run down his spine, fear that even thinking of him too long would bring him back, and then he'd  **_really_ ** be fucked. He raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to settle the hairs that had raised from his own admission and the memories of it, picking nervously at a burn on his jeans with his other hand in an attempt to dismiss the now rampant craving for a cigarette... and flinched unconsciously when a hand, a tiny, soft, warm hand, touched his thick, scarred fingers with the gentleness of a landing butterfly.

He nearly flung it off, unthinking and reactive to sudden contact, but stilled when he looked down at the culprit, his mouth drying even further than it already had been at the sight of her slim, delicate fingers curling to hold his in their grasp. It was almost funny, the difference in the size between them... his palm would encompass her entire hand effortlessly, if he flipped it over and held her hand the way he suddenly wanted to. He was a large man, both tall and broad even without his muscle tone; the magic in his blood had made sure he stood head and shoulders over all but the tallest basketball players... but even in comparison to a normal sized human she would have been small.

He could probably hold her entire weight in the embrace of one arm.

The realization was an odd one, one that he had laughed at in others before... one he'd used to his advantage often. All he could think of now, as the sun rose above them both on the surface of the rock they sat on, knees nearly touching and hands connected with a tenderness and a quiet repose he didn't dare break with his too loud, too brash voice, was that something like her, a being so small and delicate and quite possibly defenseless, was meant to be protected by people like him. That perhaps he had been wrong his entire life, to think his size and his power made him better... they had made him into the perfect guardian, a shield against everything that would ever want to harm her.

That nameless thing was whispering again, begging him to accept this ideal and fall into it as effortlessly as it seemed he could (and it  _ would _ be effortless... he could feel how right it would be, to be her protector and her comfort), but he shook it off again, hardening his impossibly soft heart as much as he possibly could while her little hand still rested in his.

Whatever it was that was at work here today, whatever spell was addling his mind and filling his head with rainbows and hope and the possibility of love, needed to  _ fuck off _ . There was no room in his ramshackle life for niceties and pretty little lambs and things like that, and that was how he liked it.

...didn't he?

“That’s so amazing… I didn’t know it was possible!” her soft, melodic voice intoned beside him, drawing Sans from his confused, tangled thoughts and back to the reality of her knelt before him with her little hand in his, her gaze raised to his and her smile gracing him yet again (his heart squeezed in his chest, warmth leeching into his blood that had nothing to do with the rising sun). She squeezed his hand, shifting where she was still curled up on the expanse of his coat, before going on. “Can… can you show me? If that’s not rude…”

If anyone but her had asked, he would have considered it as much; he'd've taught them better personally, even, and made sure they never asked again. But he felt no resistance to the idea even as the query fell from her lips, an eagerness to his compliance that baffled him even as he raised his free hand from his side, already steaming and flaring as his magic rose to his fingertips. It felt almost... intimate, to bare himself like this for her (it was just his magic... why in god's name would that be  _ intimate _ ...), but the knowledge of that didn't halt him, red lighting arching between his fingers and singing in the air as he drew one of his weapons into existence to rest in his palm.

She watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as the thick, heavy bone fell into his hand from thin air, crackling with his magic and thickening the air around it, both of her hands now gripping his like little vices. She let out a quiet gasp, when she was able to catch her breath in her surprise, and nearly made to reach out to touch it (his heart stuttered again, as her hand twitched towards it, a want that overshadowed anything else he'd ever desired filling him to the brim), but pulled back at the last moment, trembling and looking up at him with such wonder and awe that it sent a rush of pride through his blood that instantly made him lightheaded.

“Stars… Conjuration is so difficult, you must be  _ very _ strong-” she whispered in ardent admiration, her stunning gaze sparkling with the depth of her sincerity, and the combination of it all, of her hands in his, the approval and amazement in her voice, her closeness and her presence and  **_her_ ** , the space she took up in the universe and in his mind and in his clenching soul, the whiplash of his culminating feelings and the slow change he could feel overtaking him despite his best effort, sent him physically reeling, losing his balance so quickly and so badly that he nearly fell, his magic shattering into wisps of red mist as his palms slammed into the boulder to keep himself upright.

His heart was pounding in his ears and behind his eyes, his hangover surging as his brain attempted to steady his various malfunctioning systems; he was gasping for breath through gritted teeth and clenched eyelids, fingers digging into the stone beneath himself to try to stop the trembling he could feel radiating through his entire body... yet through it all, he felt the presence of her hands, shifted from his palm and to his bicep. She was pulling against it, straining to keep him upright despite her much smaller frame, and from where she touched radiated such a deep and penetrating calm that it was all he could do to keep from scooping her into his arms and holding her to his chest, a security and a balm to his overpowered senses.

Was he having a heart attack? Papyrus swore up and down he was going to have one eventually, with all the crap he ate and how much he smoked and drank, yet he had a feeling that wasn't it. His ribs  _ ached _ with the powerful beats it was attempting to contain, both his heart and his soul working his body into a frenzy... but he felt none of the pain he'd been told to anticipate from an infarction. He felt... warm, and staticky, like the time lightning had struck outside the house and every hair on his body had stood straight up for days. The pounding in his chest didn't feel wrong, it only felt powerful, as though something inside him had changed and grown.

It had something to do with her. It  _ had  _ to, nothing like this had ever happened to him before...

His hearing was slowly returning to him, as the thunder of his heart calmed slightly and allowed him steadier breath, and through the cacophony his mind was making (what could it mean... what was she doing to him? Was it a curse, or some sort of enchantment? It felt wrong to suspect it of her, and he dismissed the thoughts almost immediately, though they were quickly replaced by others), Sans heard her calling to him. She had his thickly muscled arm clutched to her chest now, her arms wrapped around it desperately, and her voice sounded heavy and choked, almost as though she was on the edge of tears.

Oh  _ hell _ no.

“-n! Please, are you alright?!  _ Please _ answer, I don't know what to do-” her voice plead as he forced himself to surface from his sudden bout of... whatever the hell that had been, intent on putting her upset to rest, and her stressed, worried face swam into view when he jerked his eyes open at last, her lips trembling and her lashes, indeed, beaded with the beginnings of tears. His heart  _ throbbed  _ at the sight, regret washing ice through his blood, and he immediately pushed himself back upright, releasing the strain off her so suddenly that she staggered a little bit (he reached to catch her, but she seemed to have an incredible equilibrium, and was standing perfectly well without his assistance only a moment later).

She turned on her heel and immediately returned to pat over his shoulders and arms, breathing quite heavily herself and looking absolutely stricken, her expression tight and her little hands shaking.

“I thought you were dying, I thought I'd done something on accident and hurt you-” she sniffled, her head falling and her crown of flowers slipping as she drooped from emotional and physical exhaustion, and the overpowering need to gather her close and hold her rushed through him again, this time to offer comfort instead of receiving it. He'd never been a touchy-feely guy, he got nothing out of hugs or cuddling, but now, the thought of just... holding her, tucking her in his arms and sheltering her from the world, was a craving powerful enough to make his palms itch.

That would likely only make her panic more, though. He owed her actual comfort, not a stranger grabbing at her (were they  _ actually _ strangers, though? It was beginning to feel less and less like it, especially in the wake of his strange near collapse...), and only reached out to tilt her head back up with the knuckle of his thumb, sending her as reassuring a smile as he was capable of. Her fur was  _ unbelievably _ soft, even the little of it that he allowed himself to feel before he pulled his hand back to lay numbly at his side, and his thumb tingled upon its parting, the want for  _ more _ and  **_longer_ ** akin to obsession.

“sorry 'bout that, sugar... jus' got dizzy all've a sudden,” he explained as evenly as he was able to, excusing his frailty away with a little white lie (she had no need to know exactly how intense it had been... he didn't want to worry her any further), but she didn't look reassured at all, watching him squint his eyes against the now beating down sunlight and shift uncomfortably to try to keep the pressure off his sore back. Her fingers clenched in the material of his t-shirt's sleeves, her lips firming as she seemed to decide on something, and she looked back to him with the sort of resolution that told him she fully expected him to comply with what she was about to say.

It was an oddity that he only found himself slightly amused by this, rather than annoyed, as he usually would be when anyone assumed to tell him what to do... it was yet another that he wasn't surprised by this discovery. It felt like contentment, somehow knowing that whatever it was she was going to say would be agreeable to him... he didn't mind that in the least.

“I want you to let me heal you. I… It hurts me too, seeing you in pain. I don’t know why, but it does. I promise I won’t hurt you... I only want to help. ...please,” she insisted shakily, her intense firmness fading away the longer she spoke until she plead in a murmur he could barely hear, her grip on his shirt tightening and her gaze falling away, as though abashed. He had a feeling this was one of the first times she'd ever tried to be pushy, and even though it wasn't nearly as poignant as he'd been expecting, Sans had no intention of denying her this time.

There was a nobleness in resisting, in letting her keep her full strength and not waste it on him when he was just going to get drunk again the very next night... but with his bout of cryptic malady, his momentary chivalry was beginning to fade away. He didn't give a shit if she healed him or not... his hangover and his aches and pains would pass. What he  _ did _ want was her to touch him again, for her to focus her attention and her care on him. He wanted her as near as she'd been while trying to support his weight, and he wanted it with a fury that no longer surprised him; it had felt  **good** , it had felt right and real, and he'd missed it the moment she'd stepped away.

His former protests were nonexistent now, against the selfishness and the intensity of his wants... what had he even been resisting in the first place? Surely nothing that bore any weight against the high it was to have her close. He'd do anything to have it again, and if he could get it through the front of her healing him of his maladies, hell, he'd take it.

“if it’s botherin’ ya that much,” he agreed equably, after a moment that he pretended to think it over (can't be too eager, not yet... such a timid thing, don't wanna scare her away), and bless her little fluffy ass, she didn't even hesitate. Her smile flitted back into existence like the sun peeking through a cloud bank, filling him with a warmth and clarity that dismissed even the worst of his pain, and she reached for him in a way that made him clench his fingers into the material of his jeans so tightly he felt them tear, forcibly reminding himself that she wasn't asking him to sweep her into his arms, no matter what his mind wished and insinuated.

That would come later, and with her permission. Patience... patience. He'd never been good at having patience, far too used to taking what he wanted, but this... this he would wait for.

Besides, it appeared that she had simply been attempting to reach him to heal him; she was dithering now, trying to find a good place to stand while his legs were still sprawled all over the place from when he'd nearly fallen over. She hemmed and hawed for a moment, so cute in her little wonderment that he didn't offer any assistance at all (he'd never been one to play hero, and though he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he'd help her in a trice if she truly needed it, he found himself chuckling while watching her puzzle it out, indulgently amused), before looking back up at him, furrowing her brows and flicking her ears.

“I… um. I need to touch your forehead… could you-” she said lamely, waving her hands at his stained jeans and steel-toed boots, and though he could more than play dumb, a smile perking his lips at his mute teasing, he finally shifted enough that he could prop his shoes against the rock, his knees bent and his elbows set on top of them. His posture would force her to step into the cradle of his thighs, overshadow her in his presence entirely, but she either didn't notice or didn't mind, nodding and clapping her hands together happily.

“Yes, just like that~”

Her stepping between his legs and halting mere inches from his chest, so near he could feel flyaway bits of her wool tickling his forearms (the sweetness of the air was  _ definitely _ her, she smelled like all the best things in the world, he wanted to clutch her to his chest, bury his face in the curve of her neck, and stay there forever-) was everything he could have dreamed and hadn't had the decency to ask for. Her warmth radiated from her like a miniature sun, the roundness of her hips a breath from the curve of his thumbs... it would be simplicity itself to reach out and touch her, to feel her fur against his skin, to see if her wool was as soft as it looked, to find out how much of her curvaceous body was wool and what wasn't.

To see how she would react, if she would lean into him when he-

Sans balled his hands into fists, where they draped across his knees, digging his blunt nails into his palms to erase the wanton thoughts with the bite of pain. He needed more control than this, and though it was a long shot to bet on himself in that regard, he  _ had _ to have it. He was an impulsive, desperate son-of-a-bitch, a horn dog at best and a degenerate at worst, but there was a time and a place to let himself get carried away, and this was  **not** it. Feeling up his (his... strangely possessive, yet he didn't shy away from it. In fact, something purred and stretched deep within him at the thought, awakening him to the realization that he quite liked calling her his) little lamb while she was upset, much less out in public, wasn't what he really wanted, no matter what his dick insisted, and he knew it enough to curb his curiosity for the moment.

There would be time to find out what was under that little dress, a thought that intrigued and consumed him in ways he was more than familiar with. Now, though, he wanted the comfort the soft little hands tracing over his cheeks promised him, her touch settling on his face and dragging against his stubble stealing away every thought but the perfection of knowing peace in her embrace. His eyes lidded, entranced by the path she took to press her fingertips to his temples, but he refused to close them entirely, watching her the same as she watched him.

She was so close he could see the little droplets of tears that hadn't dried yet clinging to her lashes... could see flecks of gold in the deep brown of her eyes beneath their cover, could feel her breath washing over his slack, sloppy grin. Her chest rose and fell as she concentrated, nearly touching his, her fur and wool were a deep, lustrous brown that rivaled his own skin tone, and her lips twitched up into a wry grin as her eyes flicked from his forehead and to his own, crinkling with amusement.

“I’m Frisk, by the by. It’s very nice to meet you!”

Sans couldn't have kept from laughing if he'd tried, his nose wrinkling as he chortled raucously at the incredible irony of the moment. Here he was, utterly craven and all but on his knees at her feet, grasping and covetous for her in nearly every way, and he  _ still  _ hadn't known her name.

He honestly wished he could be surprised at himself at this point, but even given the newness of their acquaintance and the outpouring of feelings that he could barely contain when it came to this shining new light in the darkness of his being, he knew who he was. He'd always been selfish, attending to himself above everything else... that would be the first thing he changed, now that he knew she existed in his miserable life. She would come first (heh...) in everything he did, he'd make sure of it.

“sans. ‘n same,” he replied the moment his laughter had faded, his amused grin lingering as he watched her expression greedily and rolled her name around in his head (Frisk... a name he'd never heard before, but it suited her that way. She was like nothing he'd ever known before either), and her own smile grew to echo his, a shared moment of camaraderie that warmed him from head to toe like the ray of sunlight she was.

“Sans...” she murmured beneath her breath, clearly trying out the name the same way he just had been... but hearing her say it aloud was like an electric shock, his throat tightening and the air in his lungs thickening, like he was trying to breathe water. He was absolutely certain his heart skipped a beat, his vision tunneling and locking out everything but her and the sound of her sweet voice calling his name, leaving him lightheaded and softening the sharp slice of his smile into a crooked resemblance of itself.

He'd never cared much for his name... it had been his designation, gifted him from the clinical mind of a madman (“Ironic, isn't it boy? Sans, without: just like you are. Ah... but you've never understood my humor. Small minds... Hold still, you'll upset the tubing.”), kept out of pure spite after his demise. He preferred Red, what most people had taken to calling him over the years... but her, he never wanted to call him anything else. It just sounded...  _ right _ , coming from her.

The realization left him slightly winded, and more than a little besotted (where was she gonna go after this? What was she doing out here, what were her plans? He'd find a way to see her again, and often, that much was certain... but how far did she plan to go? Hopefully not too far... he didn't think he'd be able to live without seeing her every day, now), watching her little brows furrow as she concentrated her attentions again on doing what she had promised she would. He felt a spark against the skin of his temples at the same moment that something potently green flickered in her gaze, sinking into his blood with the ease and soothing sensation of stepping into a warm bath.

He was instantly relaxed, fingers of magic as gentle as her own smoothing the aches from his muscles and coaxing the pain behind his eyes into nonexistence; in the same way that his magic was a ferocious gale, hers was a calming breeze, not prying or tearing but beckoning, a suggestion that he was free to accept at his own discretion. He took the extended hand of her power without question, letting her in and welcoming more in the blink of an eye, and felt his eyelids flutter closed only a moment after he did, the feeling of her taking the control he'd freely given her far more comforting than he'd ever expected it to be.

His guard was completely down... his defenses set aside in favor of this gentle, quiet moment. She could  _ easily _ take advantage of him like this, and he knew it... but the small, nameless something he was beginning to like quite a lot whispered that it would all be well. She would never hurt him, he could feel the assurance of it radiating from her and the touch of her hand and the softness of her magic, and he let himself fade from all but the knowledge that he was safe, placing himself entirely in her tiny hands.

Nothing had ever bothered him less, a drastic change from his almost constant anger and annoyance with the world at large, and he nearly fell back asleep, soothed and blissfully empty of all but the dreamlike state of peace she gave him... only roused by the sound of her voice breaking through the fog of contentment surrounding him.

“...I’ve never seen a human before. Even though you aren’t all the way human, I… you’re not what I was expecting,” she was muttering as he shrugged off the blanket of languor reluctantly, drowsy and likely grinning like a fool, and it took him a moment to grasp exactly what she was saying, groggy from teetering on the very edge of sleep and blinking against the sun rising behind her (it made the petals of her crown and the fluff growing thick on the top of her head practically glow, giving her all the appearance of an angel...  _ his _ angel...) and slowly becoming aware that her hands were wandering across his face, tracing the curve of his pierced brow and shifting a thick, curling lock of his hair from his forehead.

When he did fully hear her words, his mind immediately turned to the worst, dread and anxiety clouding the softness of the moment and making the cold numbness of disappointment rush through him in a tidal wave, freezing his soft, warm heart into stone. He shouldn't be surprised, he'd been nothing but a let down his whole life, why would she be any different, a pure, transcendent being like her wouldn't be impressed by the little he had to offer...

“‘n why’s that?” he grunted shortly, paralyzing upset and the helplessness of scrambling despair turning his mind to white noise (maybe it wasn't too late, maybe he could still prove he was worth something; all he needed was a chance, he could show her that he wasn't as pathetic as he seemed, he  _ could _ , she'd just come into his life she couldn't leave again, she  **_couldn't_ ** -), but she didn't seem to notice the tightness his voice had taken on, her gentle gaze tracing over the lines the years had worn into his skin, the edge of her thumb rolling over one of his piercings as she, almost unconsciously, explored the expanse of his visage.

“The only thing our elders told us was that humanity was fierce and powerful. They… I thought that meant you would be unsightly,” she admitted hesitantly, quiet and more shy than she'd been thus far (the blush was back, tinting the soft brown of the fur on her cheeks a dulcet rose, and her ears twitched forward, nearly hiding her eyes completely), and the anxious squabbling of Sans' thoughts died out with a nearly audible sizzle the moment he'd translated what she'd murmured, his eyes widening and his lips popping open in his surprise as his mind clunked along with all the speed of a harbor tugboat.

Was... was she saying what he thought she was?

No other meaning for her admission, or for her reticence, was forthcoming, the way she fidgeted and averted her eyes and yet continued to trace the lines of his face (the edge of a finger grazed his eyelashes, the tip of another trailing along the length of an old scar) telling in all its own ways... and yet it simply wasn't sinking in. Women found him attractive, sure, he used that to his advantage regularly... but there was none of the same sort of hungry lust in her eyes that always glowed in theirs, hopeful that his power and his size and his roughness would be of benefit to them.

He didn't hold back either, gave them what they wanted cuz it suited him just fine (a lay was a lay, all he cared about was getting off), but the simple, frank appreciation in her gaze, the admiration she looked over his face with and the gentleness she employed in touching him, the soft pads of her palms smoothing his beard stubble down with the delicacy she used in everything she did... he'd never been treated like this. It was so foreign, so quiet and intimate and... and... he didn't have the words to describe it.

He didn't understand. Perhaps it had been the abrupt change from worrying that she thought he wasn't good enough to considering that she found him attractive...perhaps it was simply difficult to believe that this perfect, angelic creature could look at him and find something worth admiring. Whatever it was, he was consumed by it, by the disbelief and the confusion and the  _ want _ (he hadn't questioned it the moment that he'd found her beautiful, no matter their differences... could it really be that she felt the same for him? Was it too much to hope, to ask of the heavens, for this one good thing to become even greater?), his hands shaking in the fists he had forced them into and his chest shuddering as his breaths came short and quick in his anticipatory excitement.

“...you sayin’ i’m easy on tha eyes, sweetheart?” he pressed the moment he was able to move his mouth again, trying desperately to hold back the hopeful thunder of his heart as it hammered against the inside of his ribs, but lost control of it  _ entirely _ the moment Frisk's blush deepened, her chin ducking down into the neck of her sweater-dress and her shaking hands leaving his cheeks to cross anxiously around her body (he nearly reached out to snatch them back, immediately protesting the loss), her ears now fully covering her eyes. His mind was a riot of cheering, drifting confetti, and budding hearts, his vision fuzzing around the edges until everything looked as soft as she was, as soft as the heart melting into a puddle in his aching chest.

He was full, full of her and affection and a lightness he'd never known, and he was certain, in that moment, that  _ this _ was what he'd been searching for in his empty, meaningless life, what he'd been missing and had never known it. Nothing he'd ever done had meant a damn thing... he hadn't done anything in his life to be proud of, besides saving his little brother from their bastard of a creator. He'd given up on finding a purpose, he'd cashed in his chips in that regard early. Hadn't seen the point, not when the world conspired to keep him down at every turn.

He was filled with a hope like nothing he'd ever known, though, with reciprocation and possibilities and optimism that made him feel light as air, all through his little lamb's kindness and charity and pure affection and  _ gods,  _ he was never gonna be able to let her go now, it'd  _ destroy _ him-

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t mean to be weird, or too forward. When I found you, though, sleeping under the light of the stars… they told me I should be afraid, when I met a human, and I could tell immediately that you were intimidating... but I couldn't help but admire you. From a distance! I promise I didn't do anything! I just... I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier person…” she whispered bashfully through the haze of his joyous ecstasy, playing with the hem of her sweater-dress and looking up at him from beneath the cover of her lashes and her velvet ears, and he could barely get his tongue to work, flattered beyond comprehension and  _ still _ swept away by the thought that maybe,  **maybe** he actually had a shot here (he couldn't fuck this one up, he wouldn't let himself; she was too perfect to let go, he'd follow her to the ends of the earth if he had to-).

He struggled with it all for a moment, utterly speechless and trying his best to force his befuddled mind to find a way to explain it away (he could feel something that felt a lot like addiction taking hold, he recognized it's pull, and he  _ knew _ he couldn't let her know how desperate he was yet, it'd definitely frighten her), settling on the first nonsense he could force out and hoping he wasn't making too much a fool of himself.

“...uh. ’m… sorry, i... never been called pretty before.”

Frisk giggled at that, bright and amused and he fell just a little bit deeper at the sound of it, her fingers winding together before her as she bounced on the tips of her toes (so goddamn fucking  _ cute _ , what the hell...), and she sent him a wink so teasing that it made his heart flutter like a bird's wing, a blush of his own that he was certain he'd  **never** worn before springing to life on his cheekbones.

“Well. Now you have,” she snickered, smiling and sincere and so fuckin' beautiful as she swayed in place and her tail swished around her legs and she watched him watching her back, and Sans couldn't help but laugh along with her, so lost to this incredibly soft, private moment that meant nothing to the rest of the world but  **_everything_ ** to him.

He'd wondered, when he woke, how he came to be here... and what could only be fifteen minutes later, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Was it luck, long dormant and springing upon him all at once? Was it fate, the long road behind him leading him to this exact moment? He didn't know... and he didn't care.

It didn't matter, what name he gave it, what force or power was behind it. He was here, and so was she... it was a new beginning that he wasn't sure he deserved, but one he sure as hell was gonna take. Only an utter moron would give up a chance at heaven, and he could already tell she would be his.

That nameless something confirmed it, stood strong at his back to press him onward, and he, with a confidence he'd long employed but felt was only practice leading up to this moment, reached out and took her soft, delicate paw in his hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and sending her his best, most charming smile.

“thanks sugar... ain't much, but you're the prettiest monster i ever seen, so. guess we're even, heh.”

Her round little cheeks flushed a deeper pink than he'd seen thus far, a tiny gasp leaving her parted lips, her momentarily flirtatious persona fleeing her and clearly leaving her scrambling for an answer of her own, and his ego swelled almost uncontrollably. Her chin dipped again, trying to hide away from him in the shade of her ears, and it was all he could do not to pull her into the enclosure of his body again... but this time, to press her against him fully, raise her chin and watch her eyes widen and sparkle, feel her sweet breath on his lips before he leaned into her and did what he truly wanted to.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her in a way he hadn't kissed anyone since he'd been a kid, explorative and tentative but desperate to show the depth of his affection without asking for more (that would come in time, he'd take it as slow as he was capable of, show her he could be good to her), kiss her until neither of them could breathe for the passion of it, and he wanted it so badly his fingers tingled with nerves and desire... but he held back, clenching his fists harder and biting his tongue until the piercing dug into the roof of his mouth and he tasted blood.

He wouldn't kiss her now, not with the scent of another woman on him, stale but still present from his previous night's debauchery. He wouldn't disrespect her like that, would never make her think she was just another conquest to him... a curiosity to be assuaged. She was everything, and he'd make sure she never doubted that. He wasn't sure about a lot of things, especially in what lay ahead for them... but one thing he knew he could guarantee was that.

Next time they met, he'd do it. They  _ would _ find each other again, he'd make damn sure they did, and he'd kiss the hell out of her the second he could get her in his arms.

Shit... he'd have to start investing in mints. Maybe smoke a bit less, she probably wouldn't like that…

Outside of his amorous thoughts, Frisk was clearly searching for a subject change, out of her element but not seeking to pull her hand from his (in fact, she slid her fingers into his grasp more securely), and seized upon one as she glanced back up at his forehead, seeming to recall her former occupation before being distracted.

“Is... is the pain better? I'm sorry if not... Like I said, I'm not very good...” she queried, gesturing vaguely at his head with a wave of her free hand, and it took Sans a moment to recall what she was referring to, furrowing his brows and forcing himself out of his vivid imaginings, before making a small sound of realization and nodding in confirmation.

He'd honestly completely forgotten that he'd been in pain at all... falling head over heels tended to do that to a guy.

“loads. don't think i've felt this good... ever,” he admitted completely truthfully, rolling his broad shoulders and twisting his neck to crack it several times (good stuff, healing magic... he'd have to make sure no one ever found out she had it. Never found out about her at  _ all,  _ if he could help it) _ ,  _ and she looked ecstatic at the news, grasping his extended hand in both of hers and squeezing it as she smiled infectiously.

“I'm so glad I could help!” she gushed, jumping in place, and even with the tenderness of the just dismissed moment, the tenderness he still felt as he watched her celebrate his recovery (and, he had to admit, watching her breasts bounce while trying his hardest to keep his smile from twisting into the smirk it was attempting to), he felt, with a strange sort of inevitability, his happiness begin to fade, punctured by the realization that she was being  **far** too giving and trusting. She had trusted him so quickly that it honestly made his head spin, and were he anyone else... He absolutely could have done this gentle creature ill.

He could have used her easy trust, bent her to his will... he could have intended to hurt her, suss out her powers to use them for himself, or any number of other terrible things. He didn't even want to think about what it could have meant for her to fall victim to a predator, either an animal larger than her or a person intending to harm her... just considering it for the swift moment that he did made a spark of rage ignite inside him, his teeth gritting and his free hand clenching so hard his knuckles popped.

He would never be ungrateful that she was here, that he knew she existed in his world and that maybe, maybe there was hope for him after all... but what was she doing out here, especially by herself? Shouldn't she be with her people, not out in the wide, unforgiving and selfish human world? She was too kind. Too giving.

Too  _ good _ . For the city, for the world... for him, too. But just too... good.

“why’re ya out here alone, darlin'? why’d ya leave tha mountain?” he asked quietly, heavy brows lowering over darkening eyes and thick, rough fingers squeezing the ones she had slid into his grasp gently, and Frisk blinked, stopping midjump and letting out a small gasp, as though she had just remembered why she was there in the first place.

“Oh! I… well, I found a way to escape, and I was going down to the city I saw from the mountain, to ask for help! We’ve been trapped down there for a long time, much longer than I’ve been alive… and I wanted to find a way to free my people,” she replied soberly, hanging her head and looking down to the toe of one of his boots as she spoke of the mountain she had escaped, of her trapped people, and an entire menagerie of emotions stampeded through Sans, empathy and anger and worry and admiration and outright fear flaring and burying all but the strongest of his former feelings.

It was incredibly noble of her to try to save her people, to appoint herself the duty of their hero and brave a world she had no idea about... but it was also incredibly foolish and naive. She was going to get herself killed, especially if she was heading to the city (she'd end up dead, or far worse, the moment she set foot there alone), and in the wake of all he had felt for her, all the things they could be and the way she made him feel... he couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let her sentence herself to a pointless death.

“sweetheart… that’s a nice plan’n all… but ain't no one there gonna help ya,” he sighed, raising a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose as his sharpened teeth ground together (the anger was getting hotter and hotter the more he considered what would befall her, searing his insides like acid; he needed to stop, he couldn't lose his temper now, it'd scare her), and Frisk jolted, wide-eyed as she looked up at him cautiously. Her hands were still and stiff in his now, her back ramrod straight and her breaths short and terse.

“Wh-what?”

Monsters must be less like humans and more like her, for her to be so surprised... she truly had no idea what they were like. ...what  _ he  _ was like, behind the temperance he'd been able to show her so far. He cringed, within, shuddering at the thought of what she'd have been greeted by there... what she would have thought of him, outside the brightness of the sun and the field of flowers she had found him in. If she'd have thought him so pretty in the back alleys he slouched through and committed foul deeds in, if she'd have been so kind if she knew the things he'd done just for the pleasure of doing them.

...pointless conjecture. That wasn't how it had happened, and it never _ would _ , not if he could help it.

“they’ll just kill ya. put ya in a zoo, dissect ya in a lab… run ya down in tha street. t’ain’t safe for someone like you. ...ain’t safe for most, really, but especially not for pretty little monsters that trust too easy. y'won't live ta see next week,” he warned, shaking his head jerkily and tightening his jaw so hard it cracked audibly (won't happen.  _ Won't  _ **_happen_ ** . He'd kill anyone that even thought about touching her, tried to take her away from him, he'd swear it in front of any god and all the stars in the sky-), and Frisk, so slowly that it physically hurt, pulled her hands back and against her now heaving chest, her little body trembling and her eyes sparkling with tears.

Shit...  _ shit _ , he hadn't meant to make her cry,  **_fuck-_ **

“...That can’t be true. They… I have to find help, I p-promised I would...” she stuttered, clutching at her sweater as though trying to hold herself together with just her soft little hands, and he'd never felt so useless, so utterly  _ useless _ , in his entire life. All he could do was just sit on his hands and watch her break down, her overflowing happiness and positivity leeching away more and more with every tear she shed.

She choked on a sob, trying desperately to hold it back but failing, and sank to the ground as the fire that had lit her soul was extinguished in the gales of her own misery, her head dipping and the droplets of her tears falling to stain the rock and mat down the fur on his jacket. She looked so... so small, curled into herself and starting to rock in place... he couldn't have kept from scooting closer to her, reaching out to stroke her back as gently as he was able to (his hands were so scarred and coarse, they caught on her sweater and he felt so awkward, he wasn't good at this, but he wanted to help so  _ badly _ ), if he'd had the mind to try.

He didn't know how he could possibly help, but he  **needed** to, he couldn't stand her crying, it hurt so much…

“hey… hey, don’t cry, honey… ‘s alright… it'll be fine, you'll see,” he whispered, sweet nothings that felt so incredibly odd on his tongue but slipped from his lips before he could stop them, and though her sobbing didn't cease, her tears didn't stop falling from her watery gaze... she lifted her head, sniffling and shaking, to look up at him pleadingly, her arms raising from her hold on her dress to reach from him.

It was an invitation, the one he'd been waiting for but had suspected he wouldn't receive (at least not today), and he took it without hesitation, shifting his posture to give himself room as he reached for her just the same, welcoming her in with a heart full of gleeful anticipation. She crawled into his embrace only a moment later, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder, and he enfolded her in his embrace, moving her from her feet so he bore her entire weight.

...and dear fucking  **_god_ ** , it was better than he could have possibly imagined.

It was like holding a slightly weepy but very warm cloud, composed completely of the feelings of peace and calm that he came out here for in the first place, radiating through his chest and all the way through his body in waves of absolute bliss that washed away everything but happiness in a trice. She was the  _ perfect  _ size as well, curled into the curve of his arm so comfortably, settled against his chest and shoulder so right (he could feel her stuttering little breaths against his throat, her tears dripping down to stain his t-shirt more than it already was, but they were slowing already), that he was absolutely certain he could carry her for hours and not be burdened.

It had been a miracle and a mistake all in one to allow himself this. He had never felt so complete, so absolutely fulfilled, than with her clinging to him and taking comfort in him, with a perfect, delicate being curled in his arms, dependent on his care and trusting him to give it... but he also had never felt such incredible, pervasive greed, either, the hand not cupping her thigh securely picking up its stroking along her back, his cheek settling against the fluffy, impossibly soft top of her head and his mind whirling into darker and darker places the longer and harder she clung to him.

He’d gotten a glimpse of eternity, here today… he was certain he now knew what actual, real happiness was, pure and simple and good. It was her in his arms, it was her scent in his head and her voice saying his name, the sound of her laughter and her hand taking his… there was no going back from that. There would be no returning to his empty house and his empty room and his empty bed and his empty _ life _ alone again… there would be no letting her go about her business, only intruding when he felt he was allowed. Good things were rare to the point of nonexistence, in his experience… things as good as  **her** the stuff of legends. He’d be a fool of monumental proportions if he let that go for even a moment, and no matter what people liked to insinuate about him, Sans was no fool.

He needed to find a way to make this last, to keep her close, without alarming her. He found himself suddenly grateful that she was so trusting… so easy to convince. She clearly put value in his words, as well… there must be something he could do or say, something he could twist to fulfill his selfish, grasping need. There was a twinge of wrongness to the thought, some little needling thing that prodded at him, chastising him for thinking to manipulate her… but it was easily silenced, pushed aside and mollified. This wasn’t just for him, after all… it was for  _ them _ . 

She just didn’t know it yet.

Her cries were slowly quieting, where she lay securely in his embrace (she’d never be safer anywhere, he’d outlive the stars through sheer stubbornness to make sure she never suffered again), her breathing steadying and her tears ebbing; he flattered himself, as she took a lock of his hair in hand to twirl around one of her fingers, that he was having the same effect on her that she had on him, that perhaps she felt the rightness of this and what they could be together in her soul. The consideration bolstered his ego, his pride and confidence surging (of  _ course _ it was right, it felt so good to have her, what could be wrong about that-), a broad and self-satisfied smile curving across his face as he pressed it to the top of her head in a phantom kiss, an emulation of what he really desired.

In time. They’d have plenty of it, if he got his way.

Frisk sniffled quietly, in his grasp, tracing a line of silver through the lock of hair she was toying with with a shaking forefinger, and glanced up at him through her thick lashes, hiccuping softly in her faltering outburst of misery.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do Sans… If they won’t listen, if they'll j-just... I can't do anything. I'll have to go back, and I can’t… I can’t go back in there, I  _ can’t _ …” she whimpered, her voice breaking in… in what he could only name  _ fear _ , and it was everything he could do to hold in the bestial snarl of rage that rose to his tongue the moment he realized it, his before settled anger flaring in the worst of ways. She should never have to fear  **anything** , going back to what should be a home to her least of all (not that she would be… going back was out of the question, obviously), and a consuming and complete hatred of the unknown beings beneath the mountain rose within him inescapably, his hardened, sparking gaze moving from her face and to the inactive volcano’s imposing facade.

Had they threatened her? Had she not left, as she’d said, of her own goodwill, but on an appointed errand that demanded success upon pain of death? His mind whirled with questions, each more accusing and bitter than the last (all the more reason for her to never return… fuck’em all, if they’d had the gall to make his angel so terrified), but his silence was concerning her… he could feel her eyes on his expression, registering the set of his jaw and the curl of his upper lip. Her reaction to his last show of anger hadn’t been ideal… he needed to calm down.

It was pointless to be angry with the monsters still trapped beneath the mountain, after all… the only one he gave even the tiniest shit about was right here in his arms, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be leaving them.

“would they be mad atcha? fer failin’?” he grunted out, forcing calm into his voice and _nothingness_ into his expression as he stared blankly at the far off mountain (it didn’t matter… it didn’t matter, she was here now, and they weren’t gonna came after her… if they did, if they found some way out, he’d take care of them before they ever got to her, **it** **didn’t matter, damnit** ), and his quick, even response seemed to soothe her growing worry, her brow unknitting and one of her hands shifting to lay against his chest.

“No… they didn’t want me to leave in the first place… but it’s… it’s a prison, it’s claustrophobic and crushing and I can’t- I feel so selfish, but you don’t know what it’s like to be trapped away from where you know you belong, to find what you've been longing for and have it ripped away so quickly...” she murmured, her gaze turning to the sky overhead as she set her head against his shoulder again, and his eyes turned back to her, a small, indulgent, secret smile pulling at his lips.

Before today, he wouldn't have had a clue. He'd attached himself to nothing so as to miss it that much, had no such strong feelings for anyone or anything; becoming too fond anything in his world was just asking to have it stolen, broken, or killed. Besides Papyrus, there was nothing in his life even  _ worth _ trying to keep around enough to miss it, or long for it, nothing but his vices and various addictions.

Now, though... now, as he looked down at the delicate, weeping little lamb in his arms, clinging to him for comfort and safety and reassurance in the storm of her tribulation... now, he knew. He knew it so intimately that his heart broke with it, with the thought of her ripping herself out of his life and returning to the mountain. The void she would leave behind would be impossible to repair or fill, he knew it without a shadow of a doubt… and he wasn’t going to allow it.

Duty or not, she wouldn’t be leaving him… and now he had his in.

“...i do, frisk. i really do,” he replied in an undertone, the hand stroking her back soothingly moving up to smooth her ears down and to press her head further into his shoulder (she didn’t even resist, precious thing…), rocking her in his embrace and raising his gaze again to the rolling foothills in the distance, blind to all but the thoughts simmering in his mind.

It was too simple. She didn’t even  _ want _ to go back to the mountain, despite her attachment to her people… she couldn’t complete the task ahead of her either, at least not alone. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her remove herself from his life in either fashion… and the answer to it all was clear, set before him as though it had always been there, just waiting for him to discover it. A little bit of sabotage on his part, playing up the impossibility of it all, and she would be all his, for good.

He knew that keeping her from her mission would mean her people stayed imprisoned (not that he cared much, to be frank)... he knew she probably wouldn't like it much, at least at first.

He'd taken the hard road before, though. He'd done the things no one else would do, he’d been the bastard and the heel. And if her staying alive, in his life and able to be the comfort to him that she'd been thus far (who knew, maybe was the same for her… and if not, maybe one day he could be), required not just protecting her, but  _ keeping _ her... well.

He could do that too.

Sans could feel himself settling into the familiar backdrop of his shadowy world, in his considerations... could feel the rusty cogs of treacherous machinations beginning to turn. He hadn't had to do the sort of work this would need for some time, but he remembered the ropes... the hardest part would be her, convincing her it was for the best, and convincing everyone else she wasn't worth the trouble. It would require finesse, likely Papyrus' help too (he’d better not dig his heels in too much, either, this was  _ important _ ). Slight manipulation... a few little lies. Some intimidation, easy enough... some bribery, a little harder. What some might term coercion, but he was choosing to consider momentarily forced protection.

There's no reason this couldn't work... he'd make sure that it did. He had to. The consequences were too severe to even dream of in his worst nightmares, and the rewards everything he’d ever wanted.

She’d forgive him, in time. He knew that already, without doubting it for a moment.

“...maybe i can help ya. my brother an’ me… we could protect ya, help ya find whatcha need. we ain’t pushovers, an’ we got a house y’can stay at,” he mused aloud after he had forced down the nerves and excitement desperately trying to spoil it all by making him tremble like a little girl with a sugar rush, and Frisk sniffled again, the rubbing of the material of his t-shirt between her fingers idly halting and her head turning so she could look up at him through her drying tears. His heart thumped loudly at the play of a smile around her mouth, hopeful and bright and the most beautiful thing in the world to him; he’d missed it fiercely in just the few moments it’d been gone.

“...Really? You’d do that?” she queried halteringly, wiping ineffectually at the tears clinging to the short fur of her face with the backs of her hands, and Sans chuckled dotingly, shifting his hands to swipe at them for her. She blushed gently, under the contact, moving her hands to hold his wrist trustingly as he swept away her tears (for the love of  _ Christ _ , he could feel her tail wagging against his thigh, if she got any goddamn cuter he was gonna embarrass himself-), and he shared her smile, encouraging and charming as he could possibly be.

She had no reason to distrust him… he could see the knowledge of it in her doe-like, beautiful eyes. Misplaced, perhaps, but it was fine. He’d earn if back, after the minor breaks he made to it.

“i ain’t heartless, baby doll… i can’t letcha go back somewhere ya don’t wanna, not when ya hate it so bad, an’ i ain’t about ta let ya get hurt. not if i can help it,” he swore, not having to lie in the least (he did  _ technically _ have a heart, unused and forgotten as it was, and every little black piece of it was hers and hers alone), and the sheer joy that radiated from her, filling him near to bursting just being close to her as it swept the rest of her listless melancholy from her, nearly blinded him with its radiance, everything outside the warmth of her hands rising to hold his face between them and the sparkle of her gaze lost to him.

She was  _ glowing _ , with more than just the sun now beating down on the both of them, and he found he couldn’t breathe quite right, the way she was looking at him now… as though she was feeling just what he was, that she couldn’t have been more grateful than to be in his embrace and have found out that he existed too, and raised herself from his arms to press her forehead to his, her eyes shuttering and her form stilling completely.

The breeze danced around them, the birds flitted from their boughs to swipe at the waking butterflies and trill at the flower-scented air… she let out a tremulous sigh, sanguine in their repose, her sweet breath gusting across his lips and singing in his blood.

“I  **knew** you were special. I knew it the moment I saw you, I felt it in my soul; the stars led me to you, we were meant to meet. Thank you, Sans,  _ thank you _ …” she whispered gratefully, as she pulled back after a timeless moment of contented peace he couldn’t even begin to name (he… he’d slept his way through more women than he cared to count, but he had  **_never_ ** experienced anything as intimate as that simple gesture had been), and lingered one moment longer, before dancing out of his arms and along the surface of the boulder for an unknown reason, to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

The guilt was back the moment she skipped away, hissing in his ear and reprimanding him for deceiving this angelic creature, but again, it was easily ignored, especially with the press of her lips to his cheek somehow lingering on despite her departure, brushing against the corner of his mouth and stealing all but thoughts of getting another from her. He raised his fingers to touch there, leaning back on his other hand and watching her disappear behind an outcropping of stone, and smiled crookedly to himself.

“no problem, sugar... ain’t no problem t’all.”

And it wasn’t, it truly wasn’t. Sure, it wasn’t going to be  _ easy _ to keep a monster hidden in his house, especially when she started wondering why he wasn’t making good on his promise to help her (it was bound to happen eventually, he was more than aware of that, but he had little honor to lose in that regard… and he’d find a way to convince her of his good intentions again, he was sure of it), but in his eyes, the benefits far outweighed any struggle it would be.

Besides… he’d thought of a way to keep most outside interference and questions at bay. He was already a freak in most people’s eyes, someone to fear and not question beyond the barbs whispered behind his back… it wouldn’t be so strange for a weirdo like him to adopt a pet sheep on a whim. Sheep needed homes too, didn’t they? Of course they did.

...maybe not foolproof, but it’d work until he could workshop something with his brother later… and it would get him something else that he wanted at the same time, something that, as the tingling press of her innocent kiss faded, resurfaced in his mind and twisted his smile into a perverse smirk. One small indulgence... just one. She was sacrificing so much already and didn't even know it... this would be all that he asked of her for the sake of their ruse.

Sans knew it was a lie even as he thought it, knew he was setting a trap for himself that even he could scent out (seeing his collar on her was only going to make him want more, would only encourage the rampant desire he was trying to hold back) but it didn't stop him as he reached up to the collar strapped around his throat, unbuckling the thick, spiked leather and sliding it from around his neck and into his hands. He weighed it in his palms, considering and contemplating (it was pretty dirty, and it didn’t really smell all that stellar, considering the kind of shit he got up to... but it’d do for now, until he could buy one just for her), and rubbed the worst of the smudges from it onto his jeans just as Frisk leaped back up onto the rock, a little backpack now in place on her shoulders.

He grunted as he stood much more laboriously, heaving his greater bulk from the ground and stomping the feeling back into his feet as he gained them (hot damn, he’d been sitting on that rock awhile… healing magic or not, that one was gonna stick for a while), before beckoning to her with a crooked finger and an inviting smile, swiping up his jacket from the ground and throwing it over one shoulder carelessly as he did so. His smile grew as she approached, unsuspecting and chipper and flush with her joy, and he reached out to drag his thumb along her jaw gently when she stopped before him, fond and admiring.

She leaned into his touch, her happy grin softening and her lashes fluttering prettily, and he let out a quiet huff of appreciation before moving to one knee before her, her bright inquisitiveness and bashful demeanor only adding fuel to the fire of his need to see her wearing his collar.

“jus’ one thing before we head out, darlin’… somethin’ that’ll help keep ya safe,” he professed, juggling the collar between his hands just out of sight, and Frisk nodded encouragingly, glancing at his hands with something akin to excited curiosity. He could hear the cogs in her mind turning, wondering if he had some sort of protection charm he was going to give her, had some enchanted item that would keep her from harm… heh.

Something like that.

“i’m gonna need ya ta wear this,” he went on, at last holding the collar out to her, and she reached for it before even realizing what it was, taking the aged leather and turning it in her palms before recognizing it. Her eyes widened, flashing from it, to the now bare base of his throat, and back to the object in her hands, her cheeks turning a shade of red he wasn’t yet familiar with but wanted desperately to become acquainted with. The buckle jingled quietly, as her hands trembled, and her gaze rose to meet his tentatively, her teeth worrying her lower lip dubiously.

“...W-why?” she queried in a quiet, shy voice, clearly concerned by the implication, but he had anticipated that, reaching up to tap the place it used to reside around his own throat.

“i’ve had that collar fer goin’ on ten years. my bro got it for me as a joke, an’ i leaned into it… people know it’s mine. they see ya wearin’ it if i ain’t around, they’ll know you’re mi- uh. under my protection. and ain’t no one fucks with me an’ mine,” he explained, nearly slipping and admitting to one of his most sincere wants as he did (his… all  _ his _ ), and Frisk swallowed mutely, nodding her understanding and looking down at the collar in her hands again.

“Oh… okay. If it’ll help, sure,” she murmured slowly, clearly dubious but laying her trust in his hands. She turned it over several times, pressing a thumb to one of the dull spikes and flicking at the buckle, before nodding, seeming to steel herself, and raising it to her plush throat, fumbling with the clasp and the logistics of attaching something that she couldn’t see (he nearly offered to help, but held back, far,  _ far _ too happy to indulge in the sight of her practically binding herself to him). It took her a few moments, a little pink tongue extending beyond her lips that he found himself way too interested in, before it was in place, stark red and gold against the chocolate brown of her fleecy wool, and Sans could have purred at the sight of it, a dark, possessive sort of satisfaction settling into his bones as he reached out to adjust the neckline of her sweater, so the collar could be more easily seen.

It wouldn’t do for anyone to not know who she belonged to… it wouldn’t do at all.

“believe me, sweetheart… it helps,” he assured her, dragging a finger along the studded leather and doing his level best to keep from crowing in victory (keep your fuckin’ head on, moron, job ain’t done yet…), and smirked up at her when her breath hitched at the casualness of his touch, sending her a wink that, much to his anticipation and delight, only made her blush grow darker.

Cute as fuck...

“now c’mon. sooner we getcha home, tha better, an' it's a long drive back to tha city,” he encouraged, holding out one arm wordlessly to indicate that she was being welcomed back into his embrace (she was gonna have to get real used to that… he’d have her in his arms every second he could manage it), and she hesitated for a moment, long enough to send a lick of annoyance through his blood but short enough to extinguish it the second she took a step forward, before she accepted the offer and let him sweep her back off her feet, hands on his shoulder and expression conflicted as he stood and hopped off the boulder, thoughtlessly crushing flowers under his boots as he strode towards the road, his bike, and the future that lay ahead of them both.

He had a future to look forward to, suddenly... something worth coming home to, something to work his ass off for. He’d have scoffed at the thought that that could be what he wanted only yesterday… and yet now, as gravel crunched beneath his heel and the wind blew his hair from his face and his little lost lamb clung to him, he knew it was everything he could have ever hoped for.

It’d be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he could tell already that it’d be worth it, and that was a novelty he  _ knew _ would never get old.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, loves, and I hope you enjoyed~


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